


How Does Your Garden Grow

by nantdisglair



Category: Onmyouji | The Yin-Yang Master (Movies)
Genre: Case Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 09:34:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27468817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nantdisglair/pseuds/nantdisglair
Summary: When Hiromasa catches a man-eating plant in the act, he asks Seimei for help in destroying it. But Seimei is more interested in what lies behind the vine’s attack—and in discovering the identity of its other victims…
Relationships: Abe no Seimei/Minamoto no Hiromasa
Comments: 4
Kudos: 17





	How Does Your Garden Grow

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Spook Me 2018, for the prompt 'plant'.

Dawn was just touching the world with colour when Lord Umehara came hurrying into the Divine Spring Gardens. He held a letter close to his chest, a message from the beautiful youth he’d dismissed from his bed only a few days ago.

Kaoru was as perfect as a just-ripe peach, but he’d been demanding, asking all the time for fidelity. Umehara had grown bored with the boy’s prating, but this letter, begging for one last meeting, had found him agreeable. The lad really was succulent, and much more pliant than his sister, Lady Kose, whom Umehara had been pursuing for months without breaching an inch of her defences.

He paused to glance over the letter again. The dew on the manicured lawns soaked into the hem of his cloak. Birds began to sing in the tall, stately pines, and the sharp, fresh tang of their scent came to him on the breeze that lifted the wisps of mist from the lake.

Two morning glories, the blooms still half-closed, had been attached to the letter. Written on pale green paper with an elegantly affecting Grass script, the note resembled more a morning-after letter than a request for a meeting. The boy had some strange notions. Perhaps his sister Lady Kose did, too.

Umehara considered the possibility as he followed the path as instructed by the letter. Yes, it might be better to abandon the pursuit of the girl altogether. It wasn’t as if a man of his looks and standing would find himself lonely for long. Why, only last week at a certain temple, the second wife of a certain middle-ranking official had indicated by her poetry and an arch look from her carriage that she was of a mind to take a new lover.

Obvious prey didn’t always appeal, but after wasting so long on Lady Kose, Umehara decided he was ready for something easy.

He arrived at the place of assignation and stepped through the moon-gate into a walled garden. His nose wrinkled at the warm, earthy smell that rose from the ground, and he couldn’t stop a faint sound of disgust from escaping his lips. Plants of humble stock grew in beds of black earth, a profusion of herbs and vegetables of all kinds. Perhaps a commoner would find something of beauty here, but Umehara would much prefer to take his pleasure in a more fashionable area—in one of the pavilions near the lakeside shrine, perhaps, or close by the zigzagging bridges.

Really, Kaoru had the most peculiar ideas. The fault of such an excitable and dramatic nature, no doubt. To suggest _this_ as a location for a tryst! Why, there was nowhere one might be comfortable. Only the grass, and that was wet. Umehara lifted one foot and gazed mournfully at his elegant boot. It was made for promenading the polished floors of the palace, not to go traipsing about the wilderness. His feet were damp, and his cloak, and the hems of his trousers flapped wetly against his shins. His amorous mood had vanished as swiftly as the morning mist, and in its place rose his temper.

The sunlight peeped over the top of the wall, dazzling him. Umehara blinked and turned away, walking a slow circuit around the garden. Kaoru was not here, of course. Did the young man seek to humiliate him for ending their affair? If so, this was a ridiculous place to choose. The most effective way to take revenge was at court, with a cutting wit and an appreciative audience. But then, Kaoru was beautiful but not particularly intelligent. A lovely face and splendid body, but his head was as empty as a gourd.

Umehara smiled as his gaze fixed on a gourd plant growing in the shadow of a wall. It was of immense size, its vines trailing almost the full width of the garden. Its leaves were a vibrant green, and its veined white flowers spread open at his approach, turning towards him as if he were the sun.

Pleased by the analogy, he went to make a closer inspection. Naturally he was not an expert on common plants, but even to his untutored eye this specimen was an outstanding example. Any number of gourds grew from the rambling vines, of many different shapes and sizes—large, perfectly round fruit; curvy bottle gourds; long, slim calabash. Umehara marvelled at the different colours, too—green, yellow, orange; striped, speckled. Never had he seen such variety!

The vines themselves were worthy of his attention. They tendrilled across the lawn, splaying out like limbs in repose or curling around and around as if to make a nest for the fruit, or—most wondrous of all—they climbed the wall and sent down a shower of leaves, giving the effect of a woman’s unbound hair trailing over an old gown.

He spotted a note tied to the stem of a vine. Frowning, Umehara moved closer. Brushing aside a leaf, he unfastened the note. A prickling sensation spread over his hand, raising tiny welts. He ignored it, opening the message and starting to read.

The charming, elegant hand that had convinced him to venture outdoors so early had gone. All restraint had fled, and an angry, jagged script tore across the paper. This was no love-note, but a condemnation. 

Umehara sighed. Some imbecile must have told Kaoru the truth—that Umehara had used him as a means of approaching Lady Kose. Even though Umehara’s attempted seduction of the boy’s sister had resulted in failure, it seemed that Kaoru took it personally. His pride damaged, the boy poured invective upon Umehara’s head.

_I curse you_ , said the letter. _I curse you a thousand times! May the earth reject your bones. May you be consumed!_

Lord Umehara stared. A shiver passed up his back. Then he turned into the sunlight again, feeling its warmth against his face, and he snorted. What a lot of nonsense! A curse, indeed. The very idea was ludicrous! Kaoru was like a hurt child denied its favourite treat. He wouldn’t dignify this rubbish with a response. In fact, he would show his disadain by tearing up the note and scattering the pieces across the gourd plant right now.

And yet he hesitated. Hands poised to rip the paper in half instead relaxed, folding the note and tucking it inside his cloak. Better safe than sorry. There were rumours of strange things abroad in the city, whispers of demons and aggrieved spirits. It might be wise to purchase a charm to avert any misfortune that might accrue from Kaoru’s curse. Fortunately there was a yin-yang master within Umehara’s family who’d be happy to oblige. One couldn’t be too careful, these days.

Comforted by the thought, Umehara turned to go and almost tripped. Looking down, he saw a vine curled about his ankle.

He tried to step out of it, but the vine tightened its grasp. Still not comprehending, Umehara attempted once more to disentangle himself. He moved with exaggerated slowness, bending to loop the vine beneath his foot—but more tendrils came, winding about his ankles, creeping up his legs, gripping, gripping.

Realisation of danger lent urgency to his movements. Umehara scrambled to free himself from the clinging grasp. The faster he worked, the faster the vines seized him. Now the flowers turned towards him, their blank faces no longer charming. Veins of colour pulsed in their creamy flesh. The flowers grew, the petals peeling back to reveal yellow maws.

A yank at his feet, and Umehara tumbled to the ground. His court cap fell off and rolled away. In vain he scrabbled for it, a useless gesture but one that seemed important. A vine crept after it, wrapped around it, and squeezed.

Umehara’s mouth dropped open. Disbelief warred with panic. This was ridiculous. This was—

The vines jerked. Slowly at first, then gathering speed, Lord Umehara was dragged across the grass. A high, thin scream erupted from his throat as he was hauled towards the hungry mouths of the flowers.

*

The Mid-Autumn moon cast a silvery light upon the imperial party gathered in the pavilions of the Divine Spring Gardens. The night was mild, the surface of the lake unruffled. The moon’s reflection was disturbed only by the little boats launched from the shoreline, some containing lit candles, others tiny cups of wine.

Incense smouldered in braziers, sending tendrils of sweet sandalwood about the guests. Dressed in their finery, silks and damasks and Chinese brocades, the good people of the court vied with one another to compose the wittiest, most elegant poems. Conversation rippled from one pavilion to another; jests and flirtations were carried by servants back and forth along gravelled paths strung with twinkling lights. On the zigzag bridge, flambeaux lit a group of noblewomen strolling up and down, their long hair glinting in the moonlight, the silver thread on their robes turned golden by the firelight.

Hiromasa smoothed out a thin piece of paper on his knee and searched the heavens for inspiration. It would soon be his turn to display his poetic skill, after four of his friends—no, make that three, as Lord Yoshifume had apparently fallen asleep—had had a go. He took up a brush and pondered a likely subject. The moon. The lake. Shadows.

The problem with festivals was that they went on for too long. Hiromasa had composed five poems this evening, and inspiration was at a low ebb. Already a few of his friends had resorted to quoting lines from Chinese poets. The more wine was passed around, the more likely the next exchange of rhymes would be scurrilous. Had they been elsewhere in the capital, in a private garden, perhaps, this would have been permissible, even encouraged; but as part of the imperial party, their behaviour was required to be impeccable.

Gazing up at the stars, vibrant in the clear night sky, Hiromasa’s thoughts strayed to Seimei. He’d spent last year’s Mid-Autumn Festival at Seimei’s estate, the air drenched with the sweetness of night-blooming flowers and the taste of good wine on his tongue. Seimei had caused a glittering rivulet to run across the veranda, wet when one dabbled one’s fingers in it but otherwise leaving not a mark on the floorboards. They had written their poems in companionable silence, fashioned them into little boats and set them adrift. As the little boats were borne by the rivulet over the edge of the veranda, they would transform into shikigami and speak the poems aloud before vanishing in a sprinkling of stars.

By comparison, this evening’s outing, though in the presence of the Emperor himself, seemed decidedly lacklustre. Hiromasa had invited Seimei to join him, but Seimei had excused himself, stating that a directional taboo prevented him from leaving the house. Which was strange, because Lord Oyake was here, and his estate was one street over from Seimei’s house.

Hiromasa stifled a sigh. He had to accept that his friend would rather spend time alone or with shikigami than with members of the court. Perhaps with good reason, he thought as, in an adjacent pavilion, Captain Wada contrived to spill wine over the skirt of a maidservant’s gown.

The girl shrieked, drawing attention. To the raucous guffaws of the men, she batted at her skirts, inadvertently flashing a glimpse of shapely ankle. Captain Wada leaned close and made some remark. Cheeks red with embarrassment, the maid flung herself away, the yellow sash on her gown fluttering.

She was exceptionally pretty, Hiromasa noticed. He was not the only one to notice, either; Wada got to his feet, a lecherous grin on his face. Cheered on by his companions, the captain swaggered down the steps of the pavilion and headed off in the same direction taken by the flustered maid.

Hiromasa set down his brush and let the slip of paper roll up. All thoughts of poetry forgotten, he tracked Wada with his gaze until the man disappeared beneath the overhang of an umbrella tree. Unease slithered down his spine. Captain Wada was of lower fifth rank, a man of boisterous nature and great wealth. According to him, women did not usually refuse his attentions.

The spilled wine trick was something Hiromasa had seen employed before to separate a girl from her companions. Concerned for the maidservant’s fate, Hiromasa made an excuse to his own inebriated friends and slipped from the pavilion.

Even with the brightness of the full moon lighting the garden, Hiromasa found it hard to follow Wada. He frequently stumbled on ground that appeared to be level, tripping over hidden roots or tussocks. The deeper he went into the garden, the cooler it became. Away from the torches and the warmth of the braziers, a chill stole into the air, misting his breath. The dew had just started to descend. He could make out the impression of footprints on the grass: smaller, feminine steps pursued by a determined masculine stride.

Hiromasa wished he had his sword with him. The small dagger he habitually carried wouldn’t make much impact against a warrior of Wada’s calibre. He screwed up his courage, hoping he could perhaps shame Wada into letting the maid go. If not, then perhaps a reminder of who held the purse-strings would prove effective.

Last year, he and Seimei had rendered a small service to Wada’s aunt, a matter of exorcising a demon that had made its nest in the eaves of her house. Most of the captain’s wealth came from his doting aunt; one word from Seimei and the largesse would cease. The threat of being cut off from his funds would surely make Wada see sense.

A moon-gate rose in front of him. Hiromasa ducked beneath its arch and entered a walled garden. Though deep shadows covered the far end, he thought he could discern two figures locked in an embrace—or a struggle. But what was this? As his eyes adjusted, he noticed movement from a darker patch of shadow. It looked as if the wall was covered in some kind of vine. Perhaps it was a breeze stirring the leaves, but it almost seemed as if the vines were moving. Under the moonlight, brilliant white flowers were blooming, turning their faces towards the amorous couple like eager voyeurs.

As Hiromasa continued to approach, he saw Wada pull away and put distance between himself and the girl. At once Hiromasa realised he’d misread the situation. Far from being an unwilling participant, the maid was the one instigating the seduction. She was laughing now, teasing Wada in a sultry voice as she caught hold of his cloak and tugged him back.

But Wada, like Hiromasa, had seen the vines crawling across the grass. He shook his head, his handsome face stark in the moonlight. “Is this a trick? You think to scare me into parting with my money? For shame, Aoi, I would have given you anything your heart desired! I am generous with my lovers; you need not try to frighten me!”

Only then did the maidservant look behind her. She stared at the creep of the vines and the collection of mismatched gourds, her gaze flitting over the brilliant white of the vine-flowers. The expression she turned on Wada was one of amused contempt. “Why, Captain, are you afraid of innocent little flowers? I would never have guesed it! A big, strong man like you, defeated by a mere blossom.” Her laughter rang out, tinged with mockery.

“Those are not ordinary flowers.”

At least Wada had the sense to realise _that_ , Hiromasa thought.

Aoi laughed again, a pretty trill of sound. In response, the vine’s leaves shivered and the flowers seemed to twist towards her. “Lord Oe built me a bower of flowers,” she boasted. “Each one was made of silk. A charming gift, if a little cheap. The flowers were made from off-cuts from the summer gowns he’d ordered for his wife. I appreciated the gesture nonetheless.”

She walked closer to the plant, stepping the length of the main vine with its gourds. “Then there was Middle Controller Sato. He had incense made for me after I said I liked the smell of tulips. Aloes, sweet pine and tulips… A bright, youthful scent worthy of my beauty, according to him.”

If her intention was to make Wada jealous, she was going about it the wrong way. Wada’s gaze was fixed not on Aoi, but the way the vines curled and crept about her feet. Even Hiromasa stood rooted to the spot, fearing to disturb the tableau before him lest it provoke the gourd plant into further action.

“These simple vine flowers,” Aoi put her hand to the stem of one and bent towards it, “without any discernable scent, are— Oh!”

Both Hiromasa and Wada started at her change in tone.

The maid snatched her hand away and took a few rapid steps backwards. The vines rustled after her, but she did not notice. Her attention was fixed to her hand. Blood welled up, dripping from her fingers, glistening black in the moonlight.

Wada uttered a cry. Hiromasa ran towards them even as the heroic captain ran away. The vines closed in on the girl, the flowers wide and gaping like the mouths of ravenous beasts. The gourd plant shifted, its vines writhing as it strained from its plot, as if it would haul itself from the earth and pursue Wada. Two more vines shot out, looping through the air and scrawling across the ground with deadly intent.

Hiromasa reached him first, hauling Wada from the grasp of one tendril even as another lashed closed around the captain’s booted foot.

“Help me! Help me!” Panic in Wada’s voice, desperation in his grip as he clung to Hiromasa.

Aoi screamed. A high, terrified scream that ripped through the night and set roosting birds cawing into the air.

Spurred on by the dreadful sound, Hiromasa hacked at the vine with his dagger. He kept his gaze on the task, wincing at the noises that reached him from a short distance away. The maid’s screams stopped abruptly. A wet, fleshy sound. The slither and whip of vines tightening around their prey.

Captain Wada retched, emptying his stomach of its contents. The smell of curdled food and wine made Hiromasa gag. Face slick with perspiration, he sawed through the last few plant fibres and staggered back with Wada in his arms. Hooking his hands under the captain’s armpits, Hiromasa dragged him to his feet. Together they ran across the garden, breaths sharp and fast.

At the moon-gate, they paused to look back.

The flowers were devouring Aoi, plunging to tear at her body, garments and all. Blood and gobbets of flesh spattered the lawn. Soon nothing was left of her but the pale yellow sash, trailing like a tongue from the face of one of the blossoms.

Speechless with horror, Hiromasa turned to Wada; but the captain had fled, his footfalls fading into the night.

*

The sun had not long been up when Hiromasa called on Seimei. His retainers were left yawning by the ox-cart as he made his way to the large double gates of the Abe estate. Hiromasa shook out the black silk of his court robes and made to hammer on the gates. Naturally, they swung open before his knuckles could make contact.

With a sigh, he stepped inside. The gates closed behind him. Hiromasa set foot on the winding path that led to the house, flinching away from every flower or leaf that brushed against him. Usually he found Seimei’s wilderness garden charming; today it felt hostile.

But Seimei would never permit evil flowers to reside in his garden. He would not grow man-eating plants. Everything here was raised for the pleasure of gazing upon its beauty, or else they were useful plants, for food or medicine or incense.

Hiromasa rubbed at his forehead. He’d been awake all night, worrying about what he’d witnessed, grieving for Aoi’s dreadful fate. It was too late to save the maid, but he could prevent others from meeting such a grisly end.

Seimei would know what to do.

The path twisted away from the house. Hiromasa cast a longing look towards the veranda—he’d hoped to discuss last night’s events over breakfast—but obediently followed the new direction taken by the white-gravelled path. At last he came upon Seimei, who sat gazing at the pond. Or _a_ pond, since this was not the same pond Hiromasa had seen there before.

This pond had a cluster of oddly-shaped stones piled up at one end, from which plants grew in profusion. Irises sweetened the air. Lilies covered most of the pond’s surface, flowers of white and red attracting glittering blue dragonflies. Between the gaps in the lily pads, silver carp could be seen swimming slowly. 

Seimei was a study in stillness. His snowy white hunting costume was arranged in elegant folds, showing the orange under-robes and patterned hakama beneath. He stared into the pond as if seeing far into the future. Perhaps he was, Hiromasa thought, shifting his own gaze to the pretty female shikigami in attendance.

Dressed in gold and green, her gown was a shimmering confection of the finest glossed silk. No court lady would ever wear such colour combinations, nor would she paint her eyebrows green or flash golden teeth when she smiled. The shikigami was a beautiful creature, but Hiromasa couldn’t rid his mind of the image of the vine flowers devouring the maidservant Aoi.

Seimei stirred, stretching a little in a discreet way that always put Hiromasa in mind of a cat. He blinked, seeming to notice his visitor for the first time. A smile began in his eyes.

“It’s early,” he said.

“I couldn’t sleep.” Hiromasa dusted off the top of another oddly-shaped rock placed beside the pond and sat down. A moment later he stood again, disturbed by the presence of the shikigami. He still wasn’t sure how to address them, so he nodded to her in acknowledgement then spoke to Seimei. “What kind of flower is she?”

“Chrysanthemum.” Seimei’s eyebrows arched, then he raised two fingers to his lips and murmured a spell. In an instant, the shikigami transformed from human shape to her original form, a yellow chrysanthemum flower. A flick of Seimei’s fingers, and the flower skittered away into the garden.

“You may sit now,” Seimei said.

“Yes.” Hiromasa sat, then remembering his mission, stood a second time, black silks hushing with his agitation. “No.”

Seimei lifted his gaze from contemplation of the pond. “You did not come here to enjoy the tranquillity of my garden, did you, Hiromasa?”

Realising how rude he must seem, Hiromasa seated himself a third time. “No. I’m sorry, Seimei. Your pond is very fine, although I do wish you wouldn’t keep changing things around—it was perfectly lovely the way it was last time. You should have a care for the fish, you know. They get used to the dimensions of one pond and then, _whoosh_ , their home is bigger, or smaller, or has channels cut through it, and—and it must be confusing.”

A smile teased at the corners of Seimei’s mouth. “You are a very good man, Hiromasa, to be concerned for the welfare of my fish.”

“Yes. Well.” Flustered, Hiromasa subsided.

“Mm. What is troubling you?”

“Am I so obvious? Yes, I suppose I am.” Hiromasa gathered his thoughts, pressing his hands together to calm himself. “Last night, during the festival in the Divine Spring Gardens, I witnessed a—a murder.”

Seimei tilted his head. “You seem uncertain.”

Stung, Hiromasa almost stood again. His fists clenched. “I know what I saw, Seimei! A young woman was killed. Murdered! Devoured by a plant!”

Silence spread across the garden. Hiromasa felt his face burn. Even though they’d faced many supernatural foes, it still seemed ridiculous to admit the existence of a man-eating plant.

Seimei’s expression was unreadable. He sat forward and began to feed the fish, spell-casting food from the air to scatter on the pond. “Continue,” he said.

Hiromasa recounted what he’d seen, keeping his words as unemotional as possible and focusing on providing detail. He was trembling by the time he’d finished, the maid’s screams fresh in his mind, the desperation he’d felt as he’d cut through the vine to free Captain Wada. Placing his hands on his knees, Hiromasa breathed deeply.

“Mm,” Seimei said at last. He rose from his seat, his hunting costume a dazzling white against the greenery surrounding him. “Come, Hiromasa. You have piqued my interest; let us investigate.”

He had wandered off along the path before Hiromasa could make a reply. Jumping to his feet, Hiromasa hurried after his friend. This time, the path led straight to the double gates, which stood wide to let them pass.

“My ox-cart—”

“We will walk,” Seimei decided. The gates clanged shut behind them. “The Divine Spring Gardens are not far.”

Hiromasa dawdled in the hope of Seimei changing his mind, then raced to catch up as Seimei turned onto Nishinotoin Avenue. “It would be quicker by ox-cart.”

“Perhaps; but then we would miss what the city can tell us about your man-eating plant.” Seimei gestured towards a pair of crows flying eastward. “Those birds, for example, corroborate your story. The maid’s screams stirred them from their roost. If you listen, Hiromasa, you can learn much of what you need to know.”

Perplexed, Hiromasa listened. “I can’t hear anything.”

A huff of amusement. “It is a skill that can be learned, if one is patient.”

“But Seimei, we can’t be patient! A man-eating plant is growing in the Divine Spring Gardens! It could be eating other people right now!”

“I doubt it.”As they reached the junction with Nijo Avenue, Seimei paused to buy a paper twist of candied chestnuts from a street-seller. He ate one, apparently without a care in the world as he strolled past the high, red-painted walls of the imperial palace. He offered the bag to Hiromasa. “These are very good. Try.”

“I’m not hungry,” Hiromasa said, straightening his spine. “You’d shun food, too, if you had seen what I’d seen.”

Seimei gave him a twinkling look. “Come now, Hiromasa, all creatures must eat.”

“But a plant consuming a human? That’s not natural!”

“Mm. Therefore the plant must be more than a plant.” Seimei took another candied chestnut.

“You mean it’s a demon?” Hiromasa didn’t know if that made it better or worse.

Licking sweetness from his fingers, Seimei murmured, “We shall see.”

*

It took Hiromasa a while to retrace his footsteps of the night before, and by the time they came to the moon-gate into the walled garden, the sun was fully risen. The dew had vanished, taking with it the signs of the struggle. No blood stained the grass. By daylight, everything seemed normal; rather than a place of fear, it seemed like a kitchen garden, with vegetables and herbs.

The gourd plant was still an impressive size. Its vines trailed the full width of the wall, with several roped tendrils seeming to climb over the brickwork. The creamy veined flowers had their faces turned towards the sun, their yellow tongues giving Hiromasa an uncomfortable frisson as he remembered Aoi’s sash. The leaves seemed to shiver at their approach, but though Hiromasa remained alert, nothing untoward happened.

He went closer, one hand gripping the hilt of his dagger. The sun warmed the back of his neck, glowed from the white of Seimei’s robes. The scent of moist earth tickled his nose. Eyes narrowed, he stared at each vine flower. It was ludicrous. These were _flowers_. They couldn’t eat a human being—and yet, a few hours ago, he’d seen them do just that.

Maybe he’d had too much wine, or maybe there’d been something in his cup and he’d hallucinated the whole thing. Or maybe these flowers were truly evil.

Hiromasa passed his free hand over his brow. The fruit growing on the vines was unusual. He was not an expert on horticulture, but it seemed odd that the same plant should produce gourds of several different shapes and sizes. Take the round gourd nestled close to the wall, for example. It was of gigantic size, and yet the gourd fruiting on the next tendril was of the narrow calabash variety. On another vine, a large bottle gourd grew, its dimensions much greater than the neighbouring fruit.

Seimei was studying the vine-plant, the hem of his hunting costume brushing across the grass as he moved. Crouching, he touched a bottle gourd, skimming his fingers over the pale green flesh. He made a sound low in his throat and turned, now trailing a touch over the outer rim of a flower. Then he stood and examined the tendrils climbing the wall. His expression was one of total unconcern.

“Well?” Hiromasa demanded.

“It’s a very interesting plant,” Seimei said, standing back to admire the whole. “Observe the different fruits growing from the same vine. Remarkable.”

“Remarkable? Seimei!” Hiromasa sputtered. “Do something!”

“What would you like me to do? I can hardly question it.”

“You could—you could threaten it!” Hiromasa pulled out his dagger and made a swift stabbing motion towards the plant. “Chop off one of its vines!”

A shiver passed through the leaves. He jumped back. “See? It moved! It’s afraid!”

“It was the breeze,” Seimei said, his voice mild.

“Seimei—” Hurt by his friend’s dismissal, Hiromasa booted a clod of earth and moped across the lawn to stare savagely at a row of cabbages.

Seimei moved on to study several other plants nearby. Hiromasa kept an eye on the vines, but they did nothing. Maybe he’d dreamed the events of last night after all. Hot with embarrassment, he hurried after Seimei, reaching him in time to see Seimei bend to pick up something—a scrap of paper?—and tuck it inside his hunting costume.

“What…?” Hiromasa began, then hushed when Seimei lay a finger over his lips.

In silence they passed back through the moon-gate. To anyone else, they must look like two friends out for a stroll; but Hiromasa was aware of the tension in Seimei, the clipped way he walked and the set of his jaw, the intensity in his eyes. Together they crossed the Divine Spring Gardens, coming to rest in one of the smaller pavilions overlooking the lake.

They stood at the lacquered railing and looked out over the water. The reflection offered a scene of peace, the swooping roof of the pavilion covered with green tiles set against the changing colours of the leaves on the trees. A cool wind blew; the taste of autumn hung in the air.

“I apologise for seeming to disregard your opinion,” Seimei said at last. He faced Hiromasa, his eyes very dark and serious. “The gourd plant is dangerous.”

Hiromasa’s pleasure in being vindicated was short-lived. “Then it is a demon?”

“Worse than that.” Seimei’s gaze shifted back to the surface of the lake. “It is a plant engineered by human hatred.”

“You mean…”

“I mean it was made to kill.” Seimei’s voice had hardened. He gripped the railing with both hands then let go, walking a slow circle around the interior of the pavilion. “You noticed, I hope, the different types of gourd? Of course you did. It is a sign that this is a monstrous plant masquerading as an ordinary vine. Another indication of something amiss—the flowers of a gourd plant are both male and female; the female flowers carry the fruit beneath them. And yet in this instance, one of the male flowers carried a gourd—a gourd that was of a different shape and colour to the other fruit growing on the same vine. 

“On an adjacent vine was a large bottle gourd with a distinctive feminine shape. We may hypothesise that the bottle gourd contains the maid you saw attacked and eaten last night—or at least, it contains what is left of her.”

“What is left of her…?”

Vague distaste showed on Seimei’s face. “Bones take some time to digest.”

Hiromasa wished he hadn’t asked. Swallowing his nausea, he straightened his shoulders. “What now, Seimei? How should we proceed? One of my cousins is Head of the Office of Public Works. He might have some influence with the Office of Gardens and Ponds—their offices are next to one another. I could tell him the vine is a type of knotweed and they will burn it out of the ground.”

Seimei’s mouth twisted. “I would prefer for the plant to remain unharmed.”

“But, Seimei! It’s a murderer!”

“Is it?” Seimei gave him an arch look. “Say a man is killed by a sword-thrust. Who is the murderer, the sword or the person who wielded it?”

Hiromasa waved away the argument. “The one who wielded it, of course. But—”

“And say a man encounters a tiger,” Seimei continued, “and the tiger kills the man. Is the tiger a murderer?”

“No, but it could get a taste for human flesh and become a man-eater, like that vine!” Hiromasa shook a finger at him. “Don’t try to bamboozle me with words, Seimei.”

“I am not.” A small smile blossomed, then Seimei dipped his chin. “My point is, the plant was engineered to kill. It is acting according to its nature. In this instance, it is a tool, like a sword, rather than a creature with true sentience, like a tiger.” He lifted his head and stared across the lake. “Which is what makes it so dangerous.”

Hiromasa swallowed. “Then we should set fire to it. Burn it so it can’t harm anyone else.”

“Perhaps.” Seimei met his gaze. “But first we should attempt to discover the plant’s first victim.”

“First…?” Shock held Hiromasa still, and then realisation crashed over him. “The other oversize fruit. The big, round gourd.”

Seimei nodded. “It is growing beneath a male flower, so almost certainly the victim was a man. And this,” he took a crumpled letter from inside his robe and held it up, “gives us a clue to his identity.”

*

They entered the palace compound through different gates, splitting up so as to cover more ground. Hiromasa had dozens upon dozens of friends and acquaintances at court, while Seimei’s reputation was enough to encourage secretive tongues to loosen. To aid them in their quest, Seimei had whispered a spell over the letter he’d found near the man-eating plant and made a perfect copy of it.

Hiromasa had taken the original. He’d studied the contents, the elegant hand that, with each successive stroke of the brush, had descended into a wild, angry scrawl. The curses jagged across the paper: _May the earth reject your bones. May you be consumed!_

“Who do you think wrote this?” he’d asked Seimei before they separated on their task. “A man or a woman?”

Seimei had glanced over the copy, his eyebrows arching as he considered the dash and swerve of the characters. “A woman,” he’d said. “Not by the hand, but by the intent.”

It was too horrible to contemplate the idea that a woman had created such an evil, flesh-devouring plant. Shaking his head, Hiromasa had said, “I believe it was a man.”

So far, almost all of those he’d approached with the letter had declared the writing to be the work of a man. Some even claimed to know the identity of the author, but when Hiromasa tracked down the potential curse-writers, they protested their innocence. Others wore shifty expressions when they read the hateful words, but swore they knew nothing about it. Perhaps sight of the curse made them chary of admitting involvement.

By the end of the Hour of the Horse, Hiromasa began to wonder if this was a waste of time. He was about to venture into the Imperial Palace itself in search of answers when he saw Captain Wada emerge from the Ministry of Central Affairs. For a moment they faced one another across the raked gravel, then Wada turned and walked away quickly, heading towards the Soheki Gate.

Hiromasa set off after him, calling his name. At first Wada feigned ignorance, putting his head down and increasing his pace, but when other noblemen called after him, telling him to halt, the captain must have realised the futility of his actions. He stopped in the shadow of the Great Hall of State, his bearing decidedly unmilitary. His feet twitched as Hiromasa approached, his gaze darting from side to side as if he were planning an escape. Still wearing last night’s robes, he reeked of wine and his eyes were red.

“Lord Hiromasa.” Captain Wada attempted a bow and almost tripped over his own cloak. The hem was stained; Hiromasa did not look too closely to see with what.

“Are you well?” Offering a steadying hand, Hiromasa righted the man.

Wada attempted a smile. The effect was ghastly. “Just a sore head. It seems I no longer have a tolerance for wine. Perhaps it was the vintage.”

“Do not pretend with me, Captain. We both know what happened last night, and I, for one, am eager to make certain it does not happen again.”

“I didn’t know— Didn’t intend…” Wada broke off to dab at his shiny face with his patterned sleeve. “I would never have followed Aoi to that place if I’d known…”

Hiromasa pounced on the admission. “How did you come to know Miss Aoi?”

Throwing off his despondency, the captain puffed himself up like a bullfrog. “We met at court. Her mistress attends the Empress and is often called upon to entertain Her Majesty in the palace gardens. Aoi is—was—a lively girl, full of fun and mischief. She was as determined in our courtship as I was. It could not have led to anything more serious, of course, but…” Regret and genuine grief weighed Wada’s features. “She did not deserve to die like that, Lord Hiromasa.”

“Indeed she did not.” The memory of it sent a shiver down Hiromasa’s spine. “Was her mistress in attendance last night?” As he remembered it, the Empress had retired early, surrounded by her women.

“No. Aoi knew I would be there, so she’d sneaked out of her mistress’s residence and joined the party in another lady’s retinue.”

Hiromasa frowned. “Why be so secretive about it?” 

Wada had the decency to look embarrassed, though it was only a fleeting display of the emotion. “Let us speak plainly, as two men of experience. The subterfuge was necessary because I have an agreement with Aoi’s mistress, Lady Kose. Well, in truth, a contract exists between myself and her father, but Kose is aware of the arrangement. It’s time I took a wife, you see, and the Takamune family are of good breeding, have excellent connections at court, and the girl is a beauty, if apparently somewhat cold to the suitors who’ve clamoured after her before.”

“Takamune…” Hiromasa mused, trying to place the girl. “Is she the sister of Takamune no Kaoru, the _koto_ player whose music is so admired by His Majesty?”

Wada brightened. “That’s her. Kaoru is a comely young man, if you like that sort of thing. I have caught only glimpses of Lady Kose, but if she looks anything like her brother, I will be a fortunate bridegroom indeed!”

Casting his mind back to the night before, Hiromasa said, “It’s strange, I didn’t see Kaoru at the Mid-Autumn Festival.”

“Oh, no, he wasn’t there. He sent a message saying he was sick.” Wada laughed in a sly way. “Heartsick, probably. I heard that he’d discovered something disappointing about his lover. Some terrible betrayal or other.”

“A betrayal is rather more than a ‘disappointment’,” Hiromasa said mildly.

“Oh, you know what it’s like at that age! Every rejection seems like the end of the world.” The captain made a dismissive gesture. “He’s a pretty boy, he’ll soon find another man.”

“His lover was a man?”

Wada raised his eyebrows at Hiromasa’s surprise. “Yes, of course. Didn’t you know? Lord Takamune quite despairs of the lad. It’s one thing to fool around discreetly with a friend or two, but to be so extravagant about the affair the way Kaoru was… It shows a lack of control that’s quite unseemly.”

Hiromasa drew out the letter and showed it to the captain. “Could this be written in Kaoru’s hand?”

Wada looked it over, nodding at a couple of phrases. “It seems to be. I can imagine those were his sentiments, too, at being thrown aside. He has a flair for the dramatic. Surely you remember his performance at the Gosechi Dances? Positioned himself at the very front, even when the dance called for him to be elsewhere! Yes, he wrote this, right enough. I’d bet my fortune on it.”

Tempering his urgency, Hiromasa asked, “Who was Kaoru’s lover?”

“Why, it was Lord Umehara.” Captain Wada laughed. “He has an eye for beauty, that one. At one time I thought he was pursuing Lady Kose, but he soon switched his attentions to Kaoru. A good thing, eh? Would hate to fall out with a friend over a woman!”

“Oh, absolutely.” Pieces of the puzzle slowly manoeuvred into place. If Hiromasa’s memory was correct, Umehara had also been absent at last night’s gathering. Coincidence—or was it suggestive of something more sinister?

Thanking Wada for his assistance, Hiromasa let the captain go on his way and walked slowly towards the Yomei Gate, thoughts whirling. Whichever way he looked at it, everything came back to the Takamune siblings, Kaoru and Lady Kose.

Seimei was waiting for him outside the Secretaries’ Office.

“Lord Umehara,” Seimei said, before Hiromasa could speak. “I believe he was the plant’s first victim.”

Hiromasa nodded. “Captain Wada just confirmed it. He recognised Takamune no Kaoru’s hand and personality in the letter. Umehara and Kaoru were lovers; recently, his lordship grew tired of the boy and ended their relationship. As Wada told it, Kaoru did not take the rejection well.” He slid a sly glance sidelong at Seimei. “I told you the writer was a man.”

“On the contrary, my dear Hiromasa, it is as I told you: The letter may have been written by a man, but the intent behind it was authored by a woman—Lady Kose.”

After adjusting the angle of his court cap, Seimei strolled through the palace gates, the train of his hunting costume sending up puffs of dust that dared not settle on the immaculate white silk. “My sources in the Empress’s Household confirmed that Lord Takamune had contracted a betrothal between his daughter and Captain Wada, but that Lady Kose had recently discovered that her bridegroom was involved with her maid, Aoi.

“Rather than exhibit the jealous rage expected by my sources, Lady Kose betrayed no outward emotion but excused herself from Her Majesty’s presence. It was assumed that the girl went home, but perhaps she went elsewhere.” Seimei looked at Hiromasa, dark eyes lit with resolve. “I believe it is time we called upon Lord Takamune and his offspring, and determined the truth.”

*

They found Kaoru not on his sickbed, as the servant who admitted them had claimed, but bent sulkily over his _koto_ , plucking at the strings with a desultory air to create the most mournful sounds. He was well aware of the picture he created, sitting framed by the open blinds with a view of the splendid garden as backdrop, his robes artfully dishevelled and his long hair cascading over his shoulders. Flashing dark eyes turned their way; full lips pouted.

The boy was pretty, but obvious. To Hiromasa’s mind, such blatancy was unattractive; he preferred austere features and an aura of mystery. He also, Hiromasa decided as good manners required them to wait while the youth finished his piece of music, preferred the simple elegance of the _kin_ to the practiced yet bland tune of the _koto_.

At last the final note faded. Kaoru held his pose as if waiting for applause or acclamation; receiving none, he lost his pout and batted his eyelashes instead, turning towards his visitors in a parody of sensual invitation.

Seimei appeared rapt by the prospect of the garden. Hiromasa spared it a brief glance. It had to be said, the place was magnificent, as if the design of the Divine Spring Gardens had been crossed with the wild profusion of Seimei’s garden. The result was a vibrant palette of colour as flowers vied for space with medicinal plants. Layered scents brushed through the air, attracting butterflies and bees even this late in the year. In short, it was a marvel; no wonder Seimei seemed so entranced. He was probably taking notes.

Hiromasa fixed Kaoru with an unsmiling look. “We are here on imperial business.” Not a complete lie, given his lineage, but it was usually an effective way to begin an interrogation. He took the now-crumpled letter from his cloak. “Do you recognise this?”

Kaoru’s expression brightened, then dimmed. “I wrote it. The elegance of my hand is unmistakeable, even in the grip of great emotion.” He flung back a sleeve in what he presumably thought was a dramatic gesture. “Alas, my words were written in vain. The letter has brought neither closure nor satisfaction.”

It was an odd confession. Hiromasa flicked a look at Seimei and said, “My colleague Lord Seimei and I have been tasked with discovering the truth behind this letter.”

Now the youth looked alarmed. “What’s happened? Has my lord Umehara made a complaint against me? Oh, I knew this was a bad idea!” He wrung his hands, blinking his pretty eyes rapidly until tears formed.

“Perhaps you aren’t conversant with the facts. My lord Umehara and I are… close,” Kaoru even managed to pink up at this admission, “but recently I discovered that he’d only paid court to me as a means of approaching my sister, Kose. When I confronted him, instead of denying it, he confessed it was true! And then he told me our relationship was over. I couldn’t believe it—he had the gall to reject me! It was an insult not to be borne, my lords. He had besmirched both myself and my sister’s honour, so I told Kose what he had done.”

That sounded encouraging. Hiromasa nodded in what he hoped was a sympathetic manner. “How did she react?”

“She was angry. Upset.” Kaoru shrugged. “We are very close, very devoted to one another. I believe she was affronted on my behalf. She is younger, you see, and feels things deeply. To learn that her beloved brother had been so slighted… Naturally she would take my side.”

He spoke apparently without irony. Hiromasa found himself at a loss for words.

Seimei made a noise low in his throat that sounded suspiciously like laughter.

“But for all our affection, Kose is only a girl,” Kaoru continued. “She never appreciated Lord Umehara’s visits the way I did. She expressed disgust when I told her of his interest in her, but maybe that was because she was angry at the way he’d deceived me.” The youth nodded at the wisdom of his reasoning. “She’s never lacked for suitors, but she’s never shown partiality to any of them. Quite the opposite, in fact.”

“Is that so?” Hiromasa asked in encouraging tones.

“Oh, yes.” Kaoru smoothed his robes in a self-conscious, preening gesture. “Kose prefers to spend her time in the garden. I truly think she’d wither away if she didn’t have her plants to tend. She said she’d rather be a minor wife and marry an old man who made no demands on her, but Father refused to entertain the idea. He says we should be ornaments of the court, both of us. He planned a good marriage for Kose, betrothing her to Captain Wada. ‘Match a rose with another rose, not with a weed, for it results in a stock both strong and beautiful’, that’s what Father said.”

“It’s true that Lady Kose and Captain Wada would make a striking couple,” Hiromasa agreed. “Did your sister raise any objection against her intended husband?”

Kaoru wrinkled his nose, as if he hadn’t given it much thought. “I assume she liked him. I think that’s why she was so upset, because I’d told her that one of her maids had been having an affair with the captain. Obviously, hearing of Lord Umehara’s perfidy reminded her of Captain Wada’s faithlessness.”

“ _You_ told her?” Hiromasa stared.

“Of course. It would only have caused her pain to hear it from another source.”

Speaking for the first time, Seimei asked, “To return the earlier question, what was Lady Kose’s response to the insult you’d suffered?”

“Oh,” said Kaoru, “she promised to arrange matters to suit us both. It was her idea to write the letters. I admit I might have been carried away when I wrote the second one cursing his lordship, but I have a passionate nature.” He paused for effect, visibly downcast when Hiromasa and Seimei remained unmoved.

“Lady Kose promised you would have vengeance?” Seimei prompted.

“Yes, indeed. ‘A fitting revenge,’ she said. I assumed she planned to humiliate Umehara and the maid in some fashion, but…” A troubled frown marred the young man’s smooth brow, “now Umehara won’t receive my letters and his servants say he’s left the capital…” He looked up, all wide-eyed appeal. “You are a yin-yang master, Lord Seimei; tell me, has my lord Umehara gone to the country?”

“In a manner of speaking,” Seimei said dryly. “Your sister. May we—”

“Murder! Kidnap! Disaster!” The rest of Seimei’s question was drowned out by the cries of a maidservant who came running through the garden, waving her arms to attract the maximum attention.

“It seems young Kaoru has a rival in the art of causing a commotion,” Seimei murmured to Hiromasa. “Let us step outside and see what has befallen the household.”

Kaoru scrambled from the veranda ahead of them and grasped the maidservant none too gently. “What has happened? Speak!”

“Lady Kose has disappeared—run away—been taken by bandits—oh, my poor lady! Woe! Despair!” The girl’s voice rose in pitch and volume, attracting more wails and cries from other servants who emptied out of the house into the garden.

Lord Takamune emerged from his study, blinking in a bewildered manner. “What’s all this noise? You, there—fetch a cup of water, that maid has fallen into a swoon. What’s to-do? Kaoru, is this some prank of yours? Who are these gentlemen? Why,” Takamune came closer, a scroll still clutched in his hand, an amiable smile creasing his face, “it’s Lord Hiromasa of the Minamotos, is it not? Welcome, my lord, and to your companion—”

Kaoru, who had dashed off to another part of the house, returned with equal haste. Panic had taken the place of his artful posturing. “Never mind about formal greetings, Father, Kose has vanished! She’s not in her room, and her maids are in confusion and distress! She walked out a short time ago, they said, saying she had an errand to perform—only, the gatekeeper didn’t see her pass, so a demon must have taken her!”

“What?” Lord Takamune blanched. Hiromasa grabbed him before he could fall and, leading him to a stone bench nearby, helped him to sit. The venerable gentleman wrung his hands, lamenting aloud. “What troubles beset us! First a maid goes missing, and now my daughter is stolen away by a demon. I can scarce believe my misfortune!”

In response, Seimei raised his eyebrows. Hiromasa refrained from rolling his eyes. Obviously, Kaoru had inherited his love of drama from his sire.

“It is unlikely that a demon took your daughter, my lord,” Seimei said in a dry voice. “If you were to check the circuit of your garden walls, I imagine you’ll find a stepladder or some other way that Lady Kose made her escape.”

Takamune stood up, bristling. “And who are you to make these wild claims? I know my daughter, sir! She’s a good girl, quiet and devoted to her studies. A beautiful, mild-natured girl, a favourite of Her Majesty the Empress, into whose service she has just entered! My Kose is a rare prize—naturally a demon would be tempted by her!”

Seimei’s smile was brief. “Not on this occasion.”

“Ah,” Hiromasa said, seeing that Takamune was working up a new speech of invective, “may I present Abe no Seimei, of the Bureau of Divination?”

That stopped Takamune’s tirade. “Lord Seimei? Oh yes, I see. Forgive me.” He sank back down onto the stone bench and mopped his brow with a trembling hand. “It must be as you say, then. Not a demon, but…” His features scrunched into bewilderment. “Why would she run away? She was not unhappy!”

Kaoru scuffed at the ground. Hiromasa gave him a pointed look before saying, “Perhaps she misliked the man you had chosen as her bridegroom.”

“Surely not.” Takamune looked shocked. “I believe she was pleased with the match! It’s true that Captain Wada has a reputation with the ladies, but he promised he would honour Kose and not interfere with her botanical interests—”

Seimei interrupted. “What interests, precisely?”

“Oh, she loves to read all sorts of things, seeking wisdom from the great masters before she tries her hand at following their advice. Botanical texts from China are those she clamours for most— _The Divine Farmer’s Herb-Root Classic_ , the _Treatise on the Nature of Medicinal Herbs_ , the works of Zhang Shong Jing. I have indulged both my children out of affection for their dear departed mother. She would want them to have the best of everything; whatever they desire, I try to fulfil. Kose had the most complete library of botanical and herbal texts I could provide…”

Kaoru broke into his father’s speech. “There’s such a book in her room, left open upon her reading stand.”

“What book?” Seimei’s voice snapped like a lash.

“The _Records of Plants_ by Meng Qi.” The youth shrank back a little. “Do you think it relevant, Lord Seimei?”

Takamune, meanwhile, continued to speak of his daughter to Hiromasa: “She enjoys working in the garden, just as her dear mother did. Perhaps not in the same way as her mother, for my dear wife loved flowers, and Kose… She prefers to grow herbs and vegetables. Such green fingers she has, Lord Hiromasa! I hesitate to mention it, as it may seem eccentric that a family of such good standing as ours has a daughter who enjoys tending a vegetable garden like a commoner. But I wager no man, not even His Majesty himself, eats as well as we do, and all from plants grown by Kose’s hands. Every year, such bounty! Such plump grapes, such flavourful gourds…”

Hiromasa swapped a look with Seimei.

Lord Takamune broke from his rambling reverie enough to notice the exchange. He grasped at Hiromasa’s cloak with shaking hands. “Please, my lords, if you know where my daughter may be found, I will be forever in your debt!”

Seimei tipped his head towards the gates. “Come, Hiromasa.”

“You know where she is?” Takamune struggled to his feet. “Is she in peril? I will come with you! My daughter—”

“It is best you stay here and comfort your son,” Seimei said gently. “Grave danger surrounds Lady Kose, but I am confident that she can be saved.”

“ _Are_ you confident?” Hiromasa asked in a low voice as they took their leave, the fervent prayers of Takamune and Kaoru following in their wake.

Seimei looked grim. “I don’t know, Hiromasa. In any case, let us hurry.”

*

They reached the walled garden in time to see Lady Kose, her long, unbound hair tumbling down her back, her fine autumn robes swishing across the grass, approaching the gourd plant. The vines curled towards her, and the leaves shivered as if moved by a breeze. Crows croaked from the pines in the larger expanse of the gardens beyond the moon-gate, and the leaf-mould scent of damp earth filled the air.

“Lady Kose,” Seimei called, his voice carrying across the garden.

She turned. Slowly, fully aware of her beauty, of the power her looks wielded. Her eyebrows arched, her eyes flashing irritation. Hiromasa caught his breath. This was no foolish, heartbroken woman; Kose was beautiful, angry, and knew exactly what she was doing.

“You will tell me I should regret what I’ve done.” Her tone was imperious, her expression one of self-congratulation.

A smile flickered over Seimei’s lips. “Not I,” he said. “It is not my place to tell anyone how they should or should not feel.”

Her certainty dimmed for a moment, then she smiled, breathtaking and lovely. “Then you are as odd as everyone says you are, Lord Seimei.”

He inclined his head, but was silent.

Hiromasa stepped forward, his gaze going from the rustling leaves and tangling vines to the young woman. “Lady Kose! You must come away from there. It isn’t safe. I saw the plant devour your maid, Miss Aoi. I saw it attack Captain Wada. It’s dangerous!”

She laughed. “I created it, my lord. I’m not afraid of it.”

“Bitterness is insidious,” Seimei said, his tone conversational. “It creeps and crawls, burrowing into everything hidden, uprooting emotions and recasting them in new and twisted shapes. You chose well when you decided upon the agent of your revenge.”

Kose preened, looking much like her brother. “Reading the works of Meng Qi gave me the idea. Plants provide us with food, with clothing, with shelter; without plants, we wouldn’t have many accoutrements of civilisation. Plants clean up after humans—they grow after the devastation of fire, they tear down manmade structures, they flourish where mankind has failed. What if, Meng Qi wrote, we could harness the power of plants even further, create a plant that would dispose of unwanted humans, cleanly and efficiently?”

Hiromasa glanced at Seimei. “Have you read this book?”

“Lady Kose’s reading of the text differs somewhat to my own, but nevertheless, I find it fascinating to hear her opinions.” Seimei tilted his head in enquiry. “Meng Qi was writing theoretically. You took this as a challenge?”

“I knew I could do it.” Kose’s expression shone with zeal. “It took months of work, germinating, cross-pollinating, training the young plants, grafting the vine-stock… not to mention acquiring, at great expense, secret liquids and spells from China to bring the gourd plant to life. As you said, to Meng Qi it was merely theoretical; it was I who applied practical knowledge to the theory and created life!”

“Months?” Hiromasa ignored the scientific breakthrough and fastened on Kose’s admission, his mind reeling. “Then unleashing the plant was not some spur of the moment decision caused by your brother’s complaint against Lord Umehara?”

Kose looked astonished and a little contemptuous. “Of course not! I always intended to feed my plant on human flesh—blood and bone is the very best fertilizer, you know, and I wanted it to grow strong and healthy—but I’d always envisioned feeding it with the bodies of the indigent. When Kaoru came to me whining about being thrown aside by that weasel-faced lecher Umehara, I knew I had the perfect victim for my plant.”

“Except your brother failed to attend the meeting,” Seimei said quietly. “He’d taken to his bed nursing his wounded pride, and only Umehara was present in the Divine Spring Gardens.”

“Her _brother_?” Mouth hanging open, Hiromasa snapped his gaze from Seimei to Kose and back again.

Seimei’s expression was one of complete serenity. “Who else? The source of Lady Kose’s bitterness cannot lie with Lord Umehara, or even with Aoi. She said herself, the gourd plant was created with the intention of exacting revenge. It was fed by her bitterness towards her brother, a young man feted at court for his looks and his skill on the _koto_ …”

“For the freedom to do as he pleases,” Kose corrected, her features cold and angry once more. “I must do as my father says; I must marry even though I’ve made it perfectly clear that I have no wish to do so! I could enter a convent, but why should I restrict myself to such a miserable life? I will not be subject to another’s tyranny! So yes, I settled my plant in the Divine Spring Gardens and arranged for my brother to meet his lover there, in the hope that they both would be devoured without trace. To all the world it would seem as if they’d simply disappeared.

“Once they’d gone, I planned on bringing my father to the plant. With both Father and Kaoru gone, I could take charge of my destiny. I would be free to travel in search of new and rare plants. Perhaps even to China!”

As she spoke, the vines of the gourd plant crept towards her, crawling, reaching for the train of her robes. The pale flowers edged closer, mouths wide open and smudged with yellow.

Hiromasa took breath to warn her, but Seimei held up a hand to silence him, asking one final question: “You admit, then, that your intention was not to kill Aoi or harm Captain Wada?”

Kose shrugged. “Why would I want them to die? I couldn’t care less about their affair. However, I’m glad my plant ate Aoi. I was concerned that, once it tasted human flesh, it might grow hungry for more at a faster rate than I could provide for it. Aoi saved me the trouble. In a way, I’m grateful to her.”

“I thought the plant was monstrous,” Hiromasa murmured. “I was wrong.”

“Indeed.” Seimei lowered his hand. He remained still as the vines reached Lady Kose. They clambered up and over her with terrifying speed, tangling in the glossy length of her hair, snatching at her elegant robes. The flowers loomed at her, the vines twisting about her body, bending her this way and that as the flowers hung poised like demon’s teeth, savouring her fear.

Except fear was an unknown quantity to Kose. She looked affronted, disbelieving—and then, with a piercing scream of rage, she fought against the vines holding her trapped.

Instinct started Hiromasa forward, then he hesitated, looking back at Seimei. “Why is it attacking her, when she created it?”

Seimei stayed motionless. “It’s as I told you before. Once made, the plant acts according to its nature. Bitter gourds feed on bitterness in humans. Lady Kose is bitter down to her very soul.”

Hiromasa shook his head. He couldn’t watch her die. No matter her crimes, she didn’t deserve to die in such a horrible way. “Seimei, you must save her!”

Seimei gave him a long, measuring look. “Very well.” Rolling up his sleeves, he stepped lightly past Hiromasa and rushed the gourd plant. Vine tendrils unfurled, snapping out to latch onto whatever they could—his cloak, his boots, his wrists. The flowers rippled, tossing their waxy heads, yellow tongues flick-flicking. Half turned on him, while the others descended on Kose. Her screams of anger became shrieks of pain.

The thrum of a spell beat through the air. Hiromasa darted closer, watching for an opportunity to seize the girl from the man-eating plant. The vines had wrapped Seimei about now and were squeezing, but he paid them no attention. His voice remained steady, the incantation issuing from his lips and resounding, thrown back from the walls of the garden and amplified.

The vines latched around him loosened. They withered and crumbled into dust.

Seimei caught Kose around the waist and hauled her back. The vines holding her strained, then snapped, one fibre at a time. The flowers turned brown and wilted. Kose’s screams stopped abruptly as she fell into a faint.

“Hiromasa! Your knife!”

Running to support Kose’s weight as she collapsed, Hiromasa realised that a flower was still feeding on her. A narrow vine was wrapped around her left wrist, her skin deadened between its coils. Blood spilled over the white petals, the yellow tongue of the flower burrowing into the wound in Kose’s palm.

Hiromasa handed his knife to Seimei. A cut, a slash, and the tendril relinquished its grip, falling to the ground to vanish in a spattering of earth. Another incantation, this one short and vehement, and the gourd plant went into full retreat, the surviving flowers closing as if it were the end of the day, the vines snaking back to coil around the fruit and to cling to the wall.

“It is done,” Seimei said, dusting off the brilliant white of his hunting costume.

Knelt on the grass, feeling the damp seep through his silks, Hiromasa brushed aside the fall of Kose’s hair and gazed at her face, as pale and waxen as the gourd flowers. Her left hand bore a livid scar, as if she’d been burned. Her breathing was faint.

“Summon a litter, Hiromasa. We will return her to her family.”

He looked up. “Will she live?”

“Yes.” Seimei smiled, but it did not touch his eyes. “In time, she will make a full recovery. Though for her own peace of mind, she will remember nothing of what happened, and will restrict future botanical experiments to grafting rootstock.”

*

The sun was setting as Hiromasa arrived. He turned his face to the heavens, breathing in the scent of the flowers in Seimei’s garden. For a while he stood there, emptying his mind of the trials of the day, then shook himself from his reverie. He followed the path to the house and soon found his usual place on the veranda.

A shikigami of indeterminate gender glided around, setting out small bowls of snacks. Close by, a brazier radiated warmth against the bite of the autumn evening. There was no need for incense; the garden provided its own sweetness, and then there was Seimei’s own unique scent, as elegant and mischievous as the man himself.

“Good evening, Hiromasa.” Seimei had been reclining on one elbow, his hunting costume charmingly dishevelled. He sat up, and a tendril of hair slipped from beneath his cap to brush against his neck.

Hiromasa moved his reed mat closer to his companion before he sat. “Ah, Seimei,” he shook out his silks, making himself comfortable, and leaned forward to take a couple of candied chestnuts, “this is an evening for poetry.”

Seimei made a low, soft sound of amusement. “You didn’t have enough of poetry last night?”

“The poems I compose during official festivities seem always to lack something.”

“Doubtless they reflect the inanity of court life.”

“Mm. Or perhaps,” Hiromasa said, loosening the ties of his court cloak, “I feel more inspired when I am with you.”

Seimei’s eyebrows arched, his lips twitched, but he said nothing. He held out a hand, and the shikigami came to him carrying a jar of wine and two cups. Seimei took the wine and poured it.

“I believe the very best inspiration is found at the bottom of a wine-cup. And this,” he lifted his cup, “is a very fine vintage. A gift from Lord Takamune in thanks for the restoration of his daughter. Perhaps you will do it credit, my dear Hiromasa, by composing a poem about the occasion.”

“I’m not sure I want to.” Hiromasa shuddered, watching as the shikigami drifted around them, silently laying out a selection of hot dishes. “Man-eating plants are not— Seimei!” The contents of one bowl had him lurching back, shocked from his easy mood. He gathered his wits again and edged forward, poking at the sliced vegetable with a chopstick. “Is that…?”

“Roasted gourd. Yes.” Seimei helped himself. “If you prepare it correctly, the bitterness adds a piquancy to the flavour. Try a little.”

Hiromasa stared at the vegetable, then at Seimei, then, when nothing happened, he relaxed and let out a merry laugh. “Ah, I see. You are making fun of me! Well, I will forgive you this time, Seimei—but, by way of compensation, you must listen to all five—or was it six?—of the poems I composed last night…”

Seimei’s eyes gleamed as he smiled over the rim of the wine-cup. “With pleasure, Hiromasa. I will even critique them for you in the most flattering and obsequious manner, so you may know how much I enjoyed them.”

They both laughed, toasting one another with wine.

Out in the garden, close by the pond, the vines of a large gourd plant rustled.

**Author's Note:**

> Meng Qi Weng (Shen Kuo) was a Song Dynasty polymath who lived 1031-1095; his interests ranged from mathematics to engineering, diplomacy to zoology, cartography to botany. Though anachronistic to this fic—he lived roughly a century after the real Abe no Seimei—and although the majority of his texts are lost, I couldn’t resist mentioning him: Like Seimei, he was the head of the Imperial Chinese Bureau of Astronomy, the closest equivalent to the Heian court’s Bureau of Divination.


End file.
